The Healing Process
by Drummerchick7
Summary: Hawke's mother dies, and Hawke has to deal with it.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: So, as some of you may know, my mother died very, very recently. This is part of me processing that. It seemed the perfect situation to map my own feelings onto. This project will be ongoing, as I'm still very much in it and don't know what it looks like to feel better. So whenever I feel the need, I'll write another chapter. Maybe it'll even be finished, or finished-ish, one day. Who knows? You have Diablo Kades and Raven Sinead to thank for this. They read through it for me, and told me it was definitely good enough to publish. So. Yeah. Sorry for the bummer feels. But this is basically what I'm feeling. Even when I'm having a happy moment, I'm pretty much feeling fucking SAD._

* * *

"Hawke?"

The voice calling her name was soft, hesitant. It was easy enough to pretend she hadn't heard it.

Hawke sat in her mother's favorite chair before the fire in the woman's room. At some point between the last time someone had come in and now the fire had died down to coals. But Hawke didn't feel a chill in the room. On the contrary, she didn't feel _anything_. She was numb.

Gone. Her mother was gone. She had repeated the phrase an uncountable number of times, and yet she couldn't seem to wrap her head around it. With her father and Carver both it had been different. Perhaps it was because she was young when her father died, but it had been easier to accept. And with Carver she had been fleeing for her life from the Blight. There had been so _much_ death to process, and then their lives as mercenaries had come. It had been easy enough to throw herself into the work and process the loss of her brother in her downtime.

In both cases her mother had still been there, though. But with Bethany in the Circle and her mother gone, she had no one. She was truly alone. _An orphan in my own family home,_ she thought to herself, more than once.

"Hawke?"

The voice was louder this time, closer. Still, she ignored it. Her mother had blamed her for Carver's death, telling her that she should have kept her baby brother from throwing himself at the ogre. She had just… accepted that. Intellectually she knew it wasn't her fault, but she had taken her mother's words without fuss, just so her mother could feel better. After all, Marian had lost her brother, but Leandra had lost her only son. As much as Hawke was affected by this, Leandra had to have been feeling it five times worse. She had to have felt so _powerless_. Hawke, at the very least, had the kind of strength and experience that would have helped protect her brother. So, in a way, her mother was right. She could have stopped Carver from dying. Instead, she had chosen to protect her sister. She always protected Bethany. She'd been forced to choose, and she had chosen Bethany.

That was part of why she left Bethany behind when she went on the Deep Roads expedition – to spare her mother the loss of another child. She had chosen Bethany again, keeping her safe. And even though she'd been sent to the Circle, she _had_ been kept safe from Bartrand's treachery. She smiled wryly as she thought of it, even though there was nothing funny about it. It was simply ironic that her mother blamed her for Bethany being caught, too. She'd always kept Bethany safe. And as soon as Marian stepped out, the Templars caught up with her sister. She had failed.

She sighed.

"Marian."

At the sound of her given name, she finally looked up. Merrill was kneeling on the floor in front of her. "Please, _ma vhenan, emma lath_. Speak to me? Let me in?"

Hawke stared into those impossibly huge eyes for a moment. In the dimness, the pupils took up almost her whole eyes. The _vallaslin_ framed her eyes in such a way as to make them look even bigger. The woman was all hard angles and knobby knees and elbows, the fat on her body gathering at the small swell of her hips and breasts. They had been lovers for a short time only, but friends for many years now. She knew what those words meant. _My heart, my love_.

She smiled tiredly. "You do not want in, Merrill. It is not light things I think of."

Merrill reached a hand up to cup Hawke's cheek. "I do not care. Do you think it is only the happy times I am here for?"

Despite herself, Hawke pressed her face into the touch. She found herself being drawn out of her seat, and within a few beats she was curled with her head in the small elven woman's lap. The first tear came, then, and before she could stifle it she was crying, sobbing into the small woman's robes. Great, wracking sobs left her. She heaved with them, feeling almost as though she were losing her last meal, almost wishing that kind of relief was what she would experience when she was done. But she would not. No, this pain would not cease once she was through, for it was not bad food that plagued her. She could not forcibly remove her love for her mother in the same way.

Merrill didn't even make soothing noises. She simply allowed Hawke to cry, running her fingers through the warrior's hair in a rhythmic manner. She didn't tell her it was alright, didn't coo or shush her or encourage her to stop crying. And Hawke was grateful. She'd never been allowed to grieve like this, and she found that it was preferable to the quiet, desperate sobbing into her pillow she'd done when she lost her father and Carver. She'd always had to be the strong one, the one who took care of her mother until Leandra could again take care of all of them after their father died, the one Bethany had desperately clung to in the hold of that ship after losing Carver (while her mother looked on in disappointment and anger).

She'd never been allowed to simply… grieve. And now that she could, she grieved them all. She thought of her father, her mother, her brother. She thought of her sister, alone in the Gallows, just being informed by their uncle a few hours before. She thought of the remaining members of her family, and how they could barely be called a family. Her sister was kept from her by force, and her uncle was a lecherous scum she could not stand. She didn't think even _this_ could bring the two of them together. Likely, she would send him money out of a sense of duty and never willingly spend time in his company again.

After what felt like hours she felt empty, like a wrung-out sponge. Sitting up, she wiped her eyes with her sleeve, avoiding Merrill's large, sympathetic eyes. She suddenly felt foolish, letting loose in that way. She had never done so before, and she feared how weak being so vulnerable might make her appear. Bethany never appeared weak for her sorrow, and yet someone had had to be strong. Being strong meant not breaking down. Breaking down made her weak. It was not a comfortable feeling.

A small hand on her face draw her gaze back to Merrill's. "Marian, do not be ashamed. Grieving is natural. Being in pain is a natural state of things. It is transient. It won't feel like this forever. But you need to allow yourself to feel it now." The small warm hand caressed her cheek before she continued. "Let me be strong for you instead, _ma vhenan_."

She felt tears begin leaking out of her eyes again. She sniffed and nodded, wiping the tears away again. "Thank you," she whispered, allowing her lover to draw her to her feet and lead her away.

She didn't go inside her mother's room for a month.

* * *

When she ventured into her mother's room again, she had been having a good day. Merrill was out, collecting her few things from her home in the Alienage, taking the cloak Hawke had gifted her with against the chill of the autumn air. She was moving in, as they had discussed, partly to better care for Hawke, and partly to get the elf out of the dangers of Lowtown. Hawke herself had enjoyed a leisurely breakfast before going to her study to read. She enjoyed reading, losing herself in the stories she found in the books. Varric was good at finding the kinds of books she liked to read. She enjoyed Isabela's books, too, but… not right now. She wasn't ready to feel that way right now. That disastrous night had taught her that.

_She reaches for the elf, wanting to make her feel good. Wanting to feel good herself. The elf is willing, returning her kisses with ardor. It has been weeks since they have been intimate, and she misses this beautiful thing, which had been so newly added, taking their relationship from friendship to lovers._

_But her body does not respond. Even as she removes the elf's clothes, running her hands along warm skin, reacquainting herself with the elf's wants and desires – the things made her squirm and squeal, pant and moan – Hawke's body does not respond in kind._

_It is upsetting. She gets angry with herself, redoubling her efforts, bringing Merrill to climax quickly. Refusing to let up, she does so again, almost against Merrill's will. Still, nothing. No wetness. No answering pulls of arousal._

_It is like her body is numb._

_Finally, Merrill stops her as she attempts to bring the elf to climax a third time. She asks her what is wrong, but Hawke cannot admit it, cannot name this new trouble. Sex has always been something that she could fall back on to feel good, to feel comfort. And now her body was denying her __**that**__, as well?_

_It wasn't fair._

_Merrill tries to get her to open up, finally attempting to return the favor. But Hawke's treacherous body does not respond, and she ends the night in tears of frustration, trying to hit herself before Merrill stops her, holds her, let's her sob once more. She awakes naked, curled up in the elf's arms, well-rested for the first time in days._

_They decide that perhaps lovemaking should be off the table for a little while yet._

She read some of the latest adventure Varric had found for her, an accounting of her cousin's deeds during the Blight. It is the story that sets Hawke's mood off. She finds references to her cousin visiting her own home in Lothering – not named for the Hawkes, of course, simply saying "visited her family" – that turned her mood sour. She hadn't seen the Amell Warden since before she was a Warden. Her mother had, though, and had only good things to say to Hawke about the woman.

Thinking of her mother made her forlorn, making her wish to be close to her mother, to be held and comforted by the very woman she so longed for. She held out for several minutes, but eventually made it into her mother's room.

Several hours later, this is where Merrill found her, standing stock-still in the middle of the room, lost in thought.

"_Emma lath_? What are you doing in here, Marian?"

Hawke started, turning almost guiltily to find Merrill at the door. Feeling her face flush for an unknown reason, she stepped away from her mother's bed. "Sorry. I… I haven't been in here in…"

Merrill nodded in understanding, those large eyes showing sympathy as she moved into the center of the room next to Hawke. "You miss her," she said simply, stating a fact they both knew.

Hawke nodded, feeling a tear at the corner of her eye and willing herself not to wipe it away. Merrill was teaching her how to show her vulnerability, slowly but surely, and she would be damned if she disappointed the small woman by her side. "Yes, I miss her very much."

The elf, snuggled into her side, looked up, brows knitted slightly over her large eyes. "Tell me about her?"

Hawke was confused. "But you… you knew her. What don't you know?"

Merrill shook her head, drawing herself away from Hawke and pulling her to the side of Leandra's bed. "No, Hawke, I know her as me. Tell me about her how _you_ knew her: the good, the bad, the funny. I don't remember my parents, or I would share with you as well. I want to know how _you_ knew her, _me vhenan_. Tell me?"

Hawke stared at her mother's bedspread, where Merrill now sat. She swallowed, nodded, and sat at the elf's side. Taking a deep breath, she recalled immediately a story from her childhood, and, in halting phrases that eventually smoothed out, she began her story.

* * *

_Marian runs around the yard. She is small, no older than four. Her mother stands in the kitchen, watching her hoyden of a child smear dirt on her face before letting out a war cry, brandishing a bow and arrow she'd made herself with sticks and a bit of string. __**What have I wrought?**__ A question that has crossed her mind almost daily since the twins were born._

_She moves away from the window, picking up the girl, who has just started to cry. She named her Bethany, the boy Carver, after the Templar who had helped her beloved husband leave Kirkwall. Lifting the baby, she begins to nurse, finding herself settling by the window once more without even thinking about it, watching her eldest child lunge under the fence, away from some imaginary foe._

_"Perhaps we should just surrender and have her taught? At least then she'll know how not to hurt anyone."_

_Leandra looks up to find her husband at the doorway, covered in the same amount of dirt as her child running around outside. His status as apostate requires that he hide in plain sight, necessitating him taking on difficult, physical jobs. Luckily, he's had a steady one since the twins' birth. It helps a great deal._

_"What do you mean, dear?"_

_"Oh, you know, teach her how to handle those things properly. I know a little. I could trade for a light-weight bow, maybe a wooden blade, and teach her enough. Perhaps we have a battle maiden on our hands?"_

_Leandra scowled. She didn't like the idea. But the number of bruises the child has been giving herself, and the thought of the wild child playing with those makeshift weapons anywhere near the twins makes her reconsider._

_The next day, Marian is delighted when her father comes home from his job building the new Chantry building with a child-sized bow. The arrows are dull, able to give a good bruise but unlikely to kill anything, as the bow is not powerful enough for that. In addition, he produces a very dull – but shiny! – dagger, just long enough to function as a sword for the small child. She takes to them immediately, and it becomes clear to all that she was practically born a warrior, even as small as she is. She learns very quickly, teaching Carver on them when he is older. _

_They become competitive, and often are both covered in scrapes and bruises after an afternoon session. They finally stop when Carver reaches his majority – she is fast and strong, but he is stronger, and his grudge makes it unlikely she can best him in a simple brawl. She instead beats him at their other shared love – women. Women prefer the elder Hawke, even given that she is a woman, and though she knows she shouldn't, she quietly gloats – to herself only – that he might be stronger and able to carry that giant blade, but __**she**__ is more successful in wooing women. And he will never be able to deny that it was __**she**__ that first taught him how to use the blade he is so good with now._

* * *

Merrill giggled. Hawke frowned. "What?"

"Oh, I can just imagine you, running around the forest with your child's bow. That is how the Dalish children are." Hawke smiled. Merrill continued. "Did you know, I was the only child who did not run around like the rest? I was very reserved until my magic came to me. I would watch the other children, but never participate in their games. Holding a bow was like holding a squirming dog twice my size, as far as how uncomfortable I was."

Hawke furrowed her brow. "That's curious. Even more curious is that that's how Bethany was. She would watch us wrestle, would laugh or cry out. But she wouldn't come near us when we were outside." She smiled wryly. "But once her magic came to her, she could knock us to the ground anytime we tried to rope her into it with us."

Merrill giggled again. "I can see that. She is a very powerful mage, as afraid of her power as she is."

"Maker, can you imagine if she weren't afraid? She'd be unstoppable!"

They both laughed at that. A few minutes later, they sobered some. Hawke looked up and froze, completely entranced by the look on her lover's face. The elf has a slight smile, a look that Hawke would have called "coy" were Merrill not completely and utterly innocent in the ways of trickery. Her eyes were deep pools, the pupils once again expanded all the way in the dim, lightless room. Overcome with emotion, Hawke scooped her up, kissing her deeply before muttering her thanks.

A small, warm hand caressed her cheek. "You are welcome, _ma vhenan_. Now, let's go for a walk. Stretch our legs, get you out of the house. Perhaps see if Isabela or Varric are in the mood for a drink?"

Hawke smiled, hugging the small elf in her lap closely to her. "Yes, alright. Let's do that."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Hawke awoke with tears in her eyes. She turned over, trying to cry silently into her pillow, trying to staunch the flow of tears, but they would not abate.

"Marian?" A sleepy voice from behind her. She tried desperately to stop crying, but the tears would not abate.

"Marian? Are you crying?"

She shook her head, tried to say "No," but it came out as a whisper. Then she shuddered with her sobs, finally overwhelmed.

"_Ma vhenan_, come here." Small, bony – yet soft, oh so soft – hands guided her, and she turned, pressing her face into the cloth of Merrill's sleeping shift. She felt ashamed to wake like this, but she couldn't help it. Her emotions were so close to the surface when she was waking up.

After several minutes, the tears subsided some, and she sat up, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose on a handkerchief. "I'm sorry I woke you," she managed, looking back to her lover and her sympathetic smile.

The elf shook her head, scooting closer. "Do not worry, Hawke. I am here for you. I would rather wake than discover you had cried yourself to sleep right next to me. Imagine how inconsiderate I would feel then?"

"You have a point," Hawke admitted, blowing her nose once more before tossing the handkerchief in the general direction of the rest of her clothes that needed washing. Oranna would pick it up in the morning, no doubt.

"Will you tell me why you were crying?"

She sighed heavily, flopping back onto the bed with her head in the elven mage's lap. "I had a dream."

Merrill's fingers slid into her hair. "About your mother?" Hawke nodded. "Tell me about it?"

Another heavy sigh escaped Hawke's lips. "We were in the kitchen, in our house in Lothering. I was… well, I was an adult, like now, but Bethany and Carver were young, maybe ten years old. My mother walked in and when I saw her… in my dream, it was like now. She had been dead, so when I saw her, it was like she had been dead, but not…" She shook her head, closing her eyes to try to capture the feeling. "I can't explain it. I hugged her desperately, and I asked her why she left, why she had been gone. Why would she leave us? Why would she leave us when we still needed her?"

Hawke felt a tear gather at the corner of her eye, but she pushed on. Now that she was started, she wanted to get all the way through. "She held me while I cried, Merrill. It's all I've wanted, this whole time. To be comforted by the one person I can't have." She opened her eyes, stared intently up into Merrill's eyes. "I hope you know that I am eternally grateful for you. It's just that my lover and my mother fulfill very _different_ roles for me."

Merrill smiled, cupped her cheek. "As we should, Marian. Your mother cannot fulfill the needs of your betrothed, of your lover. And your lover can _never_ be your mother." She leaned down, brushing her lips across Hawke's forehead. "That is as it should be, _emma lath_. Please, continue?"

Hawke nodded, blinking and dislodging a few tears. They rolled down into her hairline, wear Merrill swept them up and spread them throughout her mop of black hair with her sweet, loving caresses. "She held me, and I cried and I cried. At some point she started explaining to me why she left."

"What did she say?"

Hawke gulped. He voice broke as she spoke the next part. "That she was sorry. That she never meant to hurt me, but that she didn't want to be a burden on me. She said she thought it would be best if she saved us the trouble of caring for her, of worrying us." True tears were flowing freely now, and she closed her eyes and let out a small sob. "She didn't want to burden me."

"Oh, Marian," Merrill whispered, gathering Hawke up in her arms and rocking with her. "She was such a kind woman. Always welcoming the lot of us, no matter how much she might have disapproved of how Isabela dresses or how Varric would try to convince her his stories were true. She didn't mind that I always have dirt on my face or how I suddenly started sleeping over. She took us all in under her wing. It was like having a surrogate parent." Merrill's voice choked on her following words. "I never knew what it might be like to have a mother until she welcomed me that first morning, with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, uncaring that I had stumbled out of the washroom half-dressed, trying to find your room again."

Hawke pushed away a little, staring open-mouthed at her lover. "She did that? I had no idea."

Merrill nodded, smiling through watery eyes. "Yes. It saddens me, that I will not come to know her more."

Reversing their roles, Hawke sat up and pulled Merrill into her embrace. They talked further, finally falling asleep once more just as the sun began to shine behind closed curtains.

* * *

_A/N: Aaaaand this continues for me. This was actually a dream I had last night, that I woke up from this morning. And guys. I bawled. Because, like Hawke, that's what I want so desperately right now, is to have my mother back and hold me and tell me it'll all be okay when it's over. And if it's not okay, then it's not over. Today's been a good day. But this is what it started with._


	3. Chapter 3

_Apparently, I'm on a roll..._

* * *

**Chapter 3**

"Do you want to go swimming?"

"Are you insane? It's almost winter!"

Merrill chuckled. "I know you want to."

Hawke sighed. Merrill was right, she did. That was part of why she'd headed for this pool to camp next to. It was insane to camp this close to winter – they could get snowed out any day. But that was why she wanted to. She wanted to get out of Kirkwall for a few days before she had no choice but to stay indoors. It would be her first Solstice without her mother, without any family. Just Merrill, who did not know her family's traditions (though she was more than happy to learn). She wanted out of the city for a few days. A few days to refresh herself, to have Merrill all to herself in the environment that Merrill most shined in. She may get lost in Kirkwall, but in the woods she was like a cat, graceful and knowledgeable, like she was _born_ to navigate there (which she was).

They had set up their tent under an overhang of rock near a naturally occurring spring of fresh water. It wasn't like the hot springs she had heard of way up in the north, instead being fed from a fissure in the rock wall above the pool. She had discovered this place years before, on her first trip up Sundermount, right before she first met Merrill, when they had needed to camp overnight, because they didn't know exactly where to find the Dalish. She had since returned many times, for peace and quiet and fresh air. It was her first time there with her lover, however, and she was hoping it would be good for them. As a couple, and each of them individually.

They stripped their clothing off quickly, dumping it by their tent before running for the pool. Plunging in, Hawke almost screamed at the biting cold, but at the same time luxuriated in the feeling. She felt alive, awake where she had been feeling like she was floating through her life, her house, her trips to the Hanged Man with her companions. Oh, but she needed this reminder of how _alive_ she was. Surfacing, she swam around the small pool, ducking under the water again and again, losing herself in the feeling for a moment.

She was pulled from her reverie when she felt Merrill's hand brush against her thigh. She stopped swimming and glanced over. The poor elf was smiling and shivering, sitting on the sloped rock that led from the shallowest point to the deepest point. Hawke swam over to her, sitting next to her.

"Come here, Merrill," she beckoned, gathering the elf up into her lap. Merrill latched on, wrapping her arms and legs around the warrior and pressing their bodies together. Hawke's eyes almost travelled up into her head, the feeling was so delicious. In that moment, she realized they had not been naked together since that awful night almost a month before. She hugged the elf back, desperate for the contact.

"Thank you," Merrill murmured, her teeth chattering slightly. She pulled back some, enough to kiss Hawke. And when she kissed her, Hawke had a realization.

She was aroused.

_Very_ aroused.

"Oh," she breathed, deepening the kiss, sliding her hands to the slight curvature of Merrill's hips, feeling the elf's small breasts press above her own. She could feel Merrill smiling into their kiss, and it only fueled Hawke. She was hungry, _starving_, and she drank the elf in like she was a rich, honeyed drink. She no longer felt the cold of the water. She felt only the heat of her lover's body, the silkiness of her wet skin and the molten ache within her own belly.

"Oh," she stated again, catching her breath while looking deep into Merrill's eyes. "Let's get warmed up, shall we?"

Merrill nodded, smiling mischievously. Hawke stood with Merrill in her arms, stepping delicately out of the pool and heading toward the now-roaring fire they had set up at their campsite. Making her way there became a little more difficult when Merrill began tracing the shell of Hawke's ear with her slight tongue. It became even more difficult when Merill traced her lips from Hawke's jaw up to her own lips. She had to stop completely when Merill's lips found Hawke's. Her small tongue darted in, unraveling Hawke's composure utterly with its soft, hot wetness.

She finally made it to the tent, but as she pulled the flap aside, Merrill shook her head. "No, Marian. Under the sky, the stars. Let me know you in my first home."

"Maker, but you are the most-" She didn't get to finish, as Merrill had fisted her hair and pulled their lips together once more. Somehow the elf was managing to kiss her with such desperation, and yet they were soft, languid kisses, like she had all the time in the world. The combination pulled at the beast inside of her, and yet all she wanted was to melt into this small woman, this beautiful creature who, like her, was capable of great and terrible things right alongside her kindness and compassion.

Laying the mage down on the dying grass just outside the protection of the overhang, she proceeded to make love to her, losing track of where the two of them began and ended as they brought each other to such heights of pleasure.

And love. Always was love present, tempering the lustful animal inside them both.

Later, much later, they lay sprawled together, entangled. At some point Hawke had dragged a bedroll out next to the fire, and they lay now covered, Merrill's head upon Hawke's breast, breathing softly with sleep.

Hawke felt… light. Spent. Relieved. For one blissful hour or so she had lived in a world where her mother had not died, a world where all she cared about was making her lover feel good, and satisfying the deep, primal need within herself. She had reacquainted herself with her lover, all the details of her body, all the things that made her feel _good_. And she now had access to that comfort, that wonderful caress that she only knew how to access through lovemaking.

She had never loved someone quite like Merrill, for even though they were so newly lovers, they had spent many years being friends, and almost six weeks now in the trenches of Hawke's grief. Experiencing this feeling with the mage had always been different from the others she'd slept with, even before her mother's death. Now, though, it was entirely different still, a sweet, beautiful post-coital comfort she had been desperately seeking that dreadful night weeks before. She sighed, contented, and allowed herself to drift off to sleep, delighting in the soft weight of her lover at her side.

* * *

_A/N: Ahem. Let's just say that it was a good night. Last weekend, too. Far from all the way better, but at least I know, as Raven Sinead so eloquently put it, that I'm bruised but not broken, and I can enjoy the love I share with my beautiful wife. Pretty good anniversary present, if I do say so myself (last week we celebrated three years of marriage, and nine years of being together)._


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